


Apples and Forbidden Kisses

by Seaweed_Sister



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Agender Character, Angel/Demon Relationship, Apples, Best Friends, Confusion, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Funny, Internal Conflict, Mischief, Other, Pining, Temptation, cute stuff, vegan food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2020-10-27 04:27:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20754326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seaweed_Sister/pseuds/Seaweed_Sister
Summary: It's been three weeks since Armageddon was canceled, and now that Heaven and Hell are off their backs, Crowley and Aziraphale have space to breathe, and freedom to try new things...





	1. Chapter 1

“D’ya like apples?”

It was one of those rare moments in his corporeal life where Anthony J Crowley paused.

He was on his way out, feet on a mission to bring him to the Bentley parked outside, still adjusting his sunglasses on his nose when he almost collided with the woman standing in the hallway just outside the door to his flat. “Wha’s tha'?” He asked dumbly.

“D’ya like apples?” The woman repeated herself with a smile, “I went ta the orchard with some mates and I’m afraid I bought too much. I’ve been making apple bread all day, would ya like some?”

Crowley leaned against the door frame as he listened, trying to smooth over his surprise at the appearance of his neighbor from across the hall, and his shame for not sensing her in the first place. She was short but spunky, her dyed black hair matching her all black wardrobe, accented by bright red lipstick and maroon eyeshadow, a silver pentagram hanging low around her neck. Tattoos ran across her chest and down her arms, and in her hands was a neatly wrapped loaf of the aforementioned apple bread. "It has cinnamon and walnuts in it as well," she added enticingly as she held it up for him to see.

“No,” Crowley stated in a bored manner, straightening up and roughly moving past her, snapping his fingers to lock the door behind him.

He liked this particular neighbor well enough, what was her name again? Lydia? Lyra? Linda? He enjoyed her taste in music that she played at inconsiderate volumes, and admired her endless string of boyfriends and girlfriends that always stormed out of her flat after the third or fourth screaming match. Was it Lexi? Lisa? Laura?

But accepting food? A baked good she had made with _love_? Did she honestly think that he was the type of neighbor that would accept a baked good?

He could feel her eyes on him as he sauntered away, his head slowly remembering just where it was that he was going and why. He was halfway to the stairs when she called out one final temptation.

“It’s vegan.”

Vegan.

Crowley stopped in his tracks. “You don’t say...” a wicked smile spread across his face as he welcomed this new information. Spinning on his heel, he sauntered his way back towards Leah? Lily? Liza? “In tha' case, I’ll take it.”

“Didn’t peg ya for a vegan there, Tony,” the neighbor said with a wink as she handed over the loaf.

“I’m not,” he smirked and turned to leave once more. It had been three weeks since Armageddon had been canceled, three weeks since he had seen hide or hair of anyone or anything from Hell. His CDs were unchanged, television programs uninterrupted, nobody was watching him, nobody told him what to do, and everything was quiet. He turned back around, an idea striking him, and he decided he would try something absolutely unforgivable. He said-

“Thank you, uh...”

“Laci.”

“Laci, tha’s it. Thank you, Laci,” and with that, he made his exit.

Once he got to the ground floor, he stepped outside into the lack of sunshine from the overcast of grey clouds.

It was a beautiful day.

Giving the Bentley a fond pat, he walked past the car and headed to the closest bus stop about two blocks away, the apple bread still clutched in one hand. Once there, he settled himself on the empty bench and waited, waving a hand over the uncut loaf, splitting it into neat slices.

It didn’t take long before a man settled next to him, a sturdy, working class man with broad shoulders and a proud chin. “Lovely weather, eh?” the man grumbled, aiming a sarcastic grin at Crowley, who was pretending to nibble on a piece of the apple bread.

“Indeed,” Crowley concurred sincerely, “Care for a slice?” He offered the loaf to the man, a fresh slice peeking through the neat packaging.

“Wha' is it?” The man asked wearily.

“Apple bread, my niece made it,” Crowley lied, “lovely girl, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to finish it myself before it goes stale. I have a small stomach.”

Eyeing Crowley’s thin frame, the man believed it, but still was untempted.

“She’s to be a baker, wants ta open a shop soon, all by herself,” Crowley continued the lie, “Been working hard, tha' one, saving up and perfecting her recipes, she really is a talent.”

The man hesitated a moment longer, his heart moved by the story of a young person who was finally willing to work hard for a change, before reaching out and taking a slice, “Can’t hurt, I suppose.”

Crowley watched carefully out of the corner of his eye as the man took a bite, chewing slowly and considering the flavor. “A talent indeed, this is lovely,” he smiled politely, taking another bite.

“Indeed,” Crowley waited a beat, cherishing the moment before he delivered the final blow, “After all...

It’s

Vegan.”

The man froze mid-bite, the color beginning to drain from his face. “Wha’?” He swallowed hard.

“Vegan, mate. No eggs, no dairy, nothing from an animal in tha' there,” Crowley nodded solemnly to the bread in the man’s shaking hand.

“But-how-wha' even...” The man started to come undone, his fragile masculinity and working-class armor cracking and crumbling around him. Food was meant to have dairy, meant to have meat! Animals were made to be dominated, domesticated, and devoured. He had won the battle with his wife to keep real butter on the kitchen table, right next to his beloved salt shaker. 'Alternatives were healthy,' she said. 'Better to have less fat,' the doctors said. What rubbish! His family history of cardiac disease was from ruthless work ethic and the strain of their muscles, not his animal rich diet. Wasn’t he a man? Wasn’t his father a man? His grandfather too? Slaving away on the old farm in the countryside, nothing to show but the sweat on their brows and the eggs in their bread, real eggs, from proper hens on the farm that those clean men in those clean suits from the bank had ruthlessly snatched from under him. The offending baked good turned to crumbs in his clenched fist. First the human rights activists, then the environmentalists, the socialists, and now...the Vegans! What was his world coming to? What was his Britain coming to?

“Best be off then, enjoy yourself, mate,” Crowley sneered as he popped off of the bench, leaving the man to drown in his internal crisis, and strutted back down the street, back towards his beloved Bentley, a job well done.

With the remainder of the apple bread cradled in the passenger’s seat, Crowley chuckled as he put the car in gear and sped off to the old bookshop, The Velvet Underground loudly droning through the speakers.


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley parked the Bentley in front of a fire hydrant and sauntered up to A.Z. Fell and Co.: Antiquarian and Unusual Books. The small sign displayed in the window of the front door read ‘Closed’ in capital letters, next to a thick paragraph explaining the store’s complicated and spontaneous business hours. The door was, unsurprisingly, locked, but Crowley had no trouble getting it open with a simple click of his fingers.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley called out as he navigated through the dim light of the bookshop, finding the angel seated at their desk.

“Crowley, there you are,” Aziraphale fussed as they stood up, straightening their coat, “I was expecting you sooner after we got off the phone.”

“I had an unexpected detour,” Crowley shrugged casually, trying to mask a chuckle, “nothing to lose your feathers over.”

“Was it-”

“No, still no sign of them,” Crowley reassured them sincerely, before cocking a smile, “I told you, they’ll leave us alone for a bit.”

“Right, well,” Aziraphale breathed a sigh, trying to calm their nerves, “what’s that?”

“Oh,” Crowley lifted the loaf of apple bread, as if forgetting he was holding it, “I brought us a treat.”

“Well, that was very sweet of you,” Aziraphale professed, touching their well-manicured fingers to their heart.

“Careful, angel,” Crowley hissed, his features darkening, “I. Am not. Sweet.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale fixed their face with a serious look, carefully moving to take the loaf from Crowley and setting it on a table. Once their back was turned to the demon though, they broke into a smile, heading into the back room to grab plates, utensils, and napkins.

When the angel returned, they addressed the neat packaging around the gifted treat, “so, what do we have here? Homemade, is it?”

“Yeh, my neighbor. It’s apple bread,” Crowley replied with a dismissive wave as he settled into an overstuffed chair, “with, uhh, walnuts and cinnamon and whatnot.”

“Oh, which neighbor?” Aziraphale inquired with excitement.

“Uh, you know, the short lass with the hair. Lindsey, I believe.”

“You mean Laci?”

“I’m pretty sure its Lindsey.”

“Right,” Aziraphale shook their head, deciding to drop the matter, “Well, it looks like you’ve already enjoyed some,” they continued as they noted the missing slices.

“’Course, had to make sure it wasn’t poisoned,” Crowley joked, scanning the room for alcohol, “wha’ shall we pair with it?”

“Oh, I have some wine that would be lovely,” Aziraphale remarked before disappeared into the backroom once more.

Crowley sank further into the overstuffed chair; wine would be good, but he had really been hoping for scotch. He took off his sunglasses, placed them on the nearest surface and gazed around the bookshop with yellow eyes. It was still the same, but just a little different after Adam Young, the former Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Prince of this World, and Lord of Darkness, had reset the world once Armageddon fell to shit. Aziraphale had lost some of their beloved first editions, replaced by new books that the now human child had found more interesting, such as the ‘Just William’ series that now stood proudly on the top of Aziraphale’s desk. All things considered, the angel seemed to have taken it rather well, at least the new books were also first editions. Crowley supposed that recollecting the missing books might be viewed as an exciting endeavor for Aziraphale, perhaps that’s what they had been occupying their time with now that Heaven and Hell had turned a blind eye.

Crowley grimaced as he was unexpectedly hit with memories of the inferno of flame that had engulfed the space where he was now sitting, stealing the beloved collection of books from Aziraphale, and robbing Crowley of his best friend. That moment had been absolute torture for him, and, as a fallen angel, he was quite familiar with torture. Yes, it had all worked out in the end, and, according to the new present that they now inhabited, those events had never actually happened. However, the memories and emotions remained, the despair, the loss of hope, the drunken tears. He had been pathetic, incredibly uncool, but it had made him remember something that he had refused to spend a thought on for quite some time...

“Here we are,” Aziraphale sang, interrupting Crowley’s thoughts as they announced their return. They presented the bottle of wine over one arm like a waiter at a posh restaurant would do, reading the label aloud with a slightly rusty yet dramatic French accent. Crowley gave them a closed-lip smile, playing along, after all, he was about to be delighted by the inevitable repeat of his former mischievous at the bus stop.

“Allow me,” Crowley rose to his feet, surprising Aziraphale as he took over pouring the wine and portioning out slices of apple bread.

Aziraphale pulled their desk chair up to the table, a satisfied smile on their face as they laid their napkin in their lap and took up a fork. “Thank you, sir,” they stated graciously.

“Don’t,” Crowley cringed, deflecting their gratitude as he sat with his own plate and wine, pretending not to have a care in the world, but watching his friend intently.

Aziraphale took a polite portion of the bread on their fork and raised it to their lips, taking a fateful bite. Crowley fought to stay cool as he watched the angel chew, not wanting to give away the game just yet. Aziraphale looked at their plate as they contemplated each flavor that danced across their tongue. “You know,” Aziraphale looked up at Crowley once they had swallowed, patting the edges of their mouth with their napkin daintily before loading up their fork again, “this is really quite good. The texture is wonderful, a little crunch from the walnuts... it’s quite moist too, a little more so than I’ve experienced in the past. Still lovely though, do give Laci my compliments.”

“You know I won’t,” Crowley smirked, taking a sip of wine.

Aziraphale gave a content sigh as they swallowed their next bite. “It really is so moist, but I just can’t place why.”

“Maybe because...” Crowley smiled over the rim of his glass, “It’s v.e.g.a.n”

“You don’t say,” Aziraphale was fascinated as they took another bite, “what did she use instead of the eggs?”

Crowley stared at the angel, his grand prank suddenly a grand failure. It was usually so easy to ruffle Aziraphale’s feathers, but they were such a foodie that of course, _of course_ they would be happy with vegan food! He really should have foreseen this.

But, maybe, deep down, he had.

Maybe after centuries of dancing around each other, popping in and out of this angel's life, maybe he knew that the alternative recipe would intrigue and delight them. Maybe this whole rouse was just an excuse to share a treat with his oldest and dearest friend in the only way a demon knew how. Maybe he just wanted to see the look on their face, the twinkle of excitement in their eyes, the joy in their cheeks, their soft and unyielding smile.

Maybe.

Not that he would ever admit it though, even if it was the case, which it most definitely was not.

Crowley finished his wine in one gulp and blessed under his breath, all the while still maintaining his cool. He had ruined one person’s day with the vegan loaf, that would have to be enough. Taking a breath, he remembered that Aziraphale had asked him a question and was looking expectantly at him for an answer. What did Lasandra use instead of eggs? “Heaven if I know.”

Aziraphale mostly carried the conversation as the two finished the loaf of apple bread and the bottle of wine. As the sun was beginning to descend, casting the city in gloomy shadows, Crowley remembered that Aziraphale had called him here for a reason. “There’s something I wish to discuss with you, in person,” they had said nervously over the phone.

As much as Crowley was enjoying himself, this was more than just a social call, so he conjured a bottle of scotch with two fresh glasses and broached the subject. “So, wha’ exactly was it tha’ you wanted to talk to me about?”

Aziraphale paused, their smile slowly melting from their face, their chipper persona dimming to an expression of serious thought. “Well,” they began carefully, “it’s just that...well, I’ve been thinking...and, well, I’m worried.”

“About?” Crowley urged them on.

“How long we have... and-and what then?” Aziraphale raised their shoulders in exasperation.

“You’re going to have to give me more than tha’, angel,” Crowley lied. Of course, he knew what Aziraphale was trying to say, and, honestly, it was a subject that he himself would rather avoid, or maybe one that he could handle with more scotch.

“Our offices-our people-”

“They’re not our people.”

“Yes, they are, Crowley, whether we like it or not they-”

“No, _we’re_ our people, just you and me,” Crowley leaned forward in his chair, fixing Aziraphale with a blazing snake-eyed stare, his buzz adding to his convictions, “tha’s it.”

Aziraphale took a breath to collect themself. “As nice as that would be, as nice as it is now, you know we haven’t heard the last of them. We’re immortals, they won’t leave us alone forever.”

“So, wha’ then?” Crowley said dryly after taking a long sip of scotch.

“Well, I don’t know, honestly,” Aziraphale chuckled nervously, “you said yourself that both sides will use this as breathing space, and I suppose they’ll both pretend it never happened to save face, but if that’s so, when we start getting new orders-”

“If!” Crowley interjected.

“Fine- if we start getting new orders, what then? They won’t turn a careless eye again, they’ll be checking up.”

“So wha’ are you suggesting? We just never speak ta each other again? Tha’ we just hush up and play by their stupid rules, after everything!” Crowley was trying not to get mad, but fully failing.

“No, all I’m saying is that things will be different. We fooled them once, but how long until they figure it out and try to get to us again? We can’t risk it.”

“My side-my Former side won’t mess with me. They know wha’ I’m capable of when I’m backed into a corner, even before the switch,” Crowley hissed.

“I fear that mine won’t be as shaken, even after your display in the Hell Fire,” Aziraphale worried, clasping their hands tightly in their lap, trying to feign calm.

“Well, you can wear them down, haven’t you always?” Crowley pointed out.

“I don’t believe that’s an option any longer. They’ve... changed,” Aziraphale raised a hand, making a motion to chew on their thumbnail before remembering themself and placing it back into their lap, “I fear I’ll face more serious consequences if I disobey them again. I’ll be cast out, I’ll fall, I’ll be-”

“Like me?” Crowley raised his eyebrows accusingly.

“That’s not what I was going to say,” Aziraphale shot back sternly.

“Look,” Crowley raised his hands, rescinding his accusation, “I don’t want to fight. But I do think you’re being stupid.”

Aziraphale opened their mouth to contest his statement, but Crowley continued before they had a chance, “You think you’re so soft but it was _you_ who helped put a stop ta Armageddon, _you_ who convinced both sides to postpone the Great War, _you_ who faced down Satan himself; _you_, The Principality Aziraphale, Angel of the Eastern Gate. In fact, you’re the reason tha’ humanity even got a chance to populate this planet. Without your sword, Adam and Eve would have been dead in seconds. You’re stronger than you know, angel, and, I don’t think you like to believe it, but I know you had fun walking around with my face, asking demons for rubber ducks and bossing around Michael. You’re the smartest person I know, so, yeah, it will be different if our former people come back to bother us, but we’ll figure it out, together, like we always have."

Aziraphale sat in silence, pleasantly ruffled by Crowley’s string of compliments, but still anxious, “So... how do we play this for now?”

“We don’t,” Crowley expressed, “we enjoy our current situation and deal with the next one when it comes.”

“That doesn’t seem very strategic,” Aziraphale furrowed their brow.

“Think of it this way,” Crowley said, taking another sip of scotch and smacking his lips, “we’re never going to get another chance like this again. Both home offices have turned a blind eye and right now we can live how we want to for a while. Why waste tha’ worrying? We should seize it while we have the chance.”

“And do what, exactly?” Aziraphale asked hesitantly.

“Anything really, wha’ever you like! An uninterrupted food tour of the world, hunt down the books from your old collection, develop a taste for Bebop, perfect your rubbish magic tricks, go dancing, anything and everything,” Crowley listed excitedly.

“I’m afraid the only dance I know is quite out of fashion,” Aziraphale responded, betraying a small smirk.

“Modern dance is so easy, why not give it a try?”

Aziraphale scoffed to themself, “why not indeed?”

“There you go, angel,” Crowley grinned as he stood and poured them both another glass, “your work is done for now, take a load off and enjoy it. In fact, make a list, you must have a list, things tha’ you have always been tempted to do but couldn’t with Heaven breathing down your neck.”

“I do love a good list,” Aziraphale beamed, their smile and sunny disposition finally restored.

They chatted about plans and possible activities, mostly dishes that Aziraphale would like to eat, for the next hour until the sun had set completely and darkness flooded through the windows. Crowley eventually stood up to go, shivering as he dispelled a good amount of the alcohol from his system.

“Off to sleep then, are we?” Aziraphale teased as they rose to walk their guest to the door.

“Yeh, you should give it a try, add it ta your list, it’s quite nice,” Crowley proclaimed sincerely.

“Seems like a waste of time, honestly,” Aziraphale chuckled as he stood in the door frame with Crowley.

“Well, times wha’ we’ve got right now,” Crowley replied smugly.

“I guess so.”

They stood together quietly, reflecting on the conversations and events of the evening, both not quite ready to say goodbye. It was Aziraphale who finally broke the silence.

“What’s on your list, Crowley?”

“Don’t really have one,” Crowley lied, “I tend to just do whatever I please, now I can just be less sneaky about it.”

Of course, Crowley did have a list, things that he would do if Hell wasn’t constantly prepping a dark and dismal pit to cast him into, brimming with horrible and hungry creatures. In fact, there was something that had stayed at the top of his list throughout the centuries of his corporeal life, something he had been reminded of earlier as Aziraphale rummaged for wine in the backroom.

“Well then,” Aziraphale said as they clasped their hands over their stomach, “I suppose I won’t thank you for...putting my mind at ease.”

“Tha’ would be for the best,” Crowley snickered.

“Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight.”

Oh Heaven. Why not try it?

Crowley leaned forward before he could talk himself out of it, closed his eyes and pressed his lips against Aziraphale’s, reaching out to hold their cheek, steadying himself against the angel. He kissed them like he had seen countless humans do throughout their history, on the streets, in bars, and in recent years, on television. He was tender, but also a little greedy, tasting apples and scotch on Aziraphale’s lips. It was intoxicating, and, in an instant, it was over as Aziraphale practically jumped out of his grasp. “Wh-wha’ was that?” They spat with confusion, raising a hand to their mouth.

“Never heard of a kiss?” Crowley joked, only slightly hurt.

“Of course, b-but why?” Aziraphale was all but in a panic, their posh composition quickly deteriorating.

“Just to see the look on your face,” Crowley flashed them a satisfied smile as he opened the door to the bookshop.

Well, he hadn’t gotten a rise out of Aziraphale with the vegan bread, but he certainly had now. His night was complete.

“Wha’? You didn’t like it?” Crowley remarked as Aziraphale continued to fret and fuss.

“No!” The angel spluttered in a most undignified manner, “Goodnight, sir!”

And with that, Crowley was shooed out and onto the sidewalk, the bookshop door slamming behind him, locking with a frantic click, the window shades descending with assertive snaps.

Crowley leaned against the door, a chuckle in his throat as he placed his sunglasses back on his face, masking his yellow eyes from the peering streetlights. He could feel Aziraphale pressed to the opposite side of the door, desperately holding it closed as if Crowley were the Grecian army trying to actively break down the walls of Troy. Oh, the Trojan War, what a time that had been.

He decided not to press things further, he had had his fun and now it was time to go home. He sauntered towards the Bentley, hands in his pockets as he whistled a careless tune from long ago. He flicked the yellow traffic ticket off of the windshield and by the time the piece of paper had withered to ash on the pavement, he was gone. 


	3. Chapter 3

Aziraphale sank to the floor, their back pressed firmly against the door of the bookshop. What had just happened? They were saying goodnight, same as any other night, and then, suddenly- it had all been so fast! They had been-had they really just been-

_“Never heard of a kiss?”_

Kissed?

Kissed!

They, Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, had been...

They felt dizzy, light headed, pressing their palms firmly into the carpet beneath them, fighting to hold themselves steady. Was the shop spinning? Was the world spinning? Was it all ending again?

“Breath, compose yourself,” a more sensible and collected part of their mind urged, but the rest of them was far from ready to heed the advice.

Kissed. 

How had it come to this?

Kissing an angel. Every being, both mortal and divine, knew that you were never to kiss an angel! It was all right there, written in stone text, the bonus 11th commandment of The Ten Commandments:

...  
8\. Thou shalt not steal  
9\. Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor  
10\. Thou shalt not covet.  
And one more for thy good fortune  
11: THOU SHALT NOT KISS AN ANGEL!

It had been a laborious task throughout Aziraphale’s long corporeal life, keeping humans for kissing them, from unknowingly committing such a taboo. How quickly humans were pushed to passion, so freely puckering their lips after simple acts of kindness or small miracles. Didn’t they know that a simple “thank you” would suffice? Humans experienced all of their emotions in extremes, elating in joy, collapsing in sorrow, burning in fury. How did they bare the intensity? Sensitive in every way, except for, or course, when it came to sensing the divine, to have sense to be modest towards them. They were always reaching, like moths to flickering flames. 

Now here they were, after all that hard work, crumpled on the floor, an angel kissed. And not just by anyone, any human, but by Crowley, their dear friend Crowley, Demon Crowley! They were lucky the two of them hadn’t exploded, an angel and a demon sharing a kiss like that.

Forget about home office damning them for disobedience, they could very well damn them for this forbidden act alone, this careless gesture of passion.

In fact, it could already be done.

Panicked, Aziraphale scrambled to their knees, starting to crawl desperately across the floor like a frantic child before their dignity surfaced through their alarm and made them straighten up. There was a mirror, a large mirror with an ornate frame hanging next to the shelf of bibles and Aziraphale raced for it. Beholding their reflection in the tarnished silver, they extended their angelic wings, raising them high above their head so that they could examine each and every feather. They shone, white and brilliant like sunlight beaming through soft clouds, but were they as white as they were meant to be? Had their heavenly glow been diminished?

Aziraphale practically dove for their desk, pulling open drawers until they found a large magnifying glass. They held it close to their feathers, running their fingers over them as they searched for blemishes, spots of blight, scorches of hellish black, but... found none.

They breathed a sigh as they dropped into their desk chair, massaging their temples as their sanity slowly returned, warming the ice in their veins. It was alright, they were alright, still themselves. 

Angels don’t have sexuality, they barely even have gender, that much was understood by all in Heaven, but, now that they thought about it, Aziraphale had heard whispers of possibilities, that an angel could experience sexuality, but only if they really really wanted to. 

They had never personally known any angels that had wanted such a thing, or even gone through with it, but then again, they hadn’t spent a lot of time in Heaven over the last couple millennia. The whispers must have come from somewhere, distributing through the ranks of angels not as forbidden, not as taboo, but as harmless light gossip, only ever coupled with uppity scoffing, because who would really really want something so incredibly _human?_

Who indeed?

Well... apparently, Crowley. 

Aziraphale let their hands slide from their temples, a gentle finger lingering on their mouth, gingerly exploring where Crowley’s lips had been pressed against their own only moments ago. 

_“Wha’? You didn’t like it?”_

Had they?

Of course not, they couldn’t have, the two of them were hereditary enemies after all. 

Throughout history, they had been on opposite sides of a war, a war that humanity found itself unavoidably wedged in the middle of. Angels were good, all that they did was correct and decent, while demons were evil, all that they did being wrong and wicked. Those were the facts, they had to be, wasn’t that what Adam and Eve had learned under that apple tree so long ago, the difference between good and evil? 

And yet, as Aziraphale walked amongst the humans, watched throughout their time, they found more shades of grey than simple blacks and whites. Good and evil were both incredibly complicated, multifaceted, and messy. There had been plenty of times that Aziraphale had winced at the actions of angels and found relief in the actions of demons, one demon in particular. 

Crowley, then Crawley, took a fast liking to Aziraphale in Eden, always lingering about, popping in for a casual chat, even just to think out loud. Aziraphale found no issue with it at first, they were an angel after all, well equipped to resist the temptations and falsities of demons, but they were terrified when, after years and years, they found themselves growing closer to this demon, and ultimately realizing one day that they liked them too. Crowley was always there when they least expected it, but also when they needed it most, to save them from the gallows or from the barrel of a gun, sparing them the nasty fate of extensive and tedious paperwork. 

Aziraphale thought about that night at the church, the night that they had been outwitted by the Nazis, foiled by their own fatal flaw of being far too trusting, always giving people the benefit of the doubt. They had stood amongst the ruins of stones and dust, angel and demon clean and whole, spared by Aziraphale’s miracle. But the books! They had forgotten about the books, those precious first editions now reduced to pitiful scraps. They very well may have shed a tear, but then Crowley was holding them, carelessly passing those prized volumes to Aziraphale as if the act was no big deal, as if they were two ordinary people whose friendship was simple and sincere, not a desperate secret, concealed in the backs of their throats. Had they thought about kisses that night? Had the thought flashed in their mind, quickly brushed aside but leaving a meaningful mark nonetheless as they followed that man out of the rubble and darkness?

Back before The Fall, they had caught glimpses of Crowley, flying high in the opal expanse of eternity, hanging the sky with brilliant lights, forming stars and galaxies. Before they were Crowley, before they were Crawley, they had been an angel after all, same as them, pearly wings and golden hair framing his brilliant smile. He has been lovely, but, far too curious, too imaginative, too... cynical. 

They didn’t like to think of the conflict that led to The Fall, the rebellion. Of course, they had stood behind God, led their troops in the great battle against those who doubted, a flaming sword to settle a morale argument. There were no questions in their mind, no doubts. They knew their place in heaven, basked in their being and purpose, happy in their place. But did they understand their place? The events that God set in motion throughout human history? Not completely, but that was not for them to ponder over, not for them to understand. They were comfortable in their faith; faith was all they needed, it kept them going throughout their years on Earth.

And yet, how was it that Crowley always had them falling to pieces? Unraveling at the core, so shook in their convictions just by one of the demon’s casual wonderings. Reframed by ebony wings and rusted hair, they persisted with their questions, always supposing, always challenging rules and boundaries. Aziraphale should have been able to dismiss those nagging enquiries easily, armed with sharp and clever rebuttals to dismantle the demon’s arguments, but it was never so simple. It would start out easy, but as Crowley dug deeper, so too did Aziraphale in order to counter him, but deeper in themself they found less surety, less clarity, and more... dissatisfaction.

Hadn’t it been why they had finally agreed to Crowley’s clever Arrangement? Dared to twist the rules to meet their own approval without fully breaking them, finding loopholes in the careless wording of orders and assignments from Home Office. They were no devil, but fraternizing with one was never so bad. And what they and Crowley had, well... it was ineffable. Impossible to describe or even truly express in words or gestures. They were a feeling, an understanding, a silence between two people as they shared a lunch, an empathy as they sat side by side. No two beings could have been more opposite, but somehow, against all odds and logic, opposites attracted. 

They were complimentary. And without the other, they just weren’t quite right. Incomplete in a small way, but one that was felt entirely. Alone, it was easy to fall into their predestined molds, to go along with the sentiment and actions of their respective offices, losing themselves in the Great Plan. But together, together they were more daring, more creative, more unique, more alive. And, maybe they had always felt it, Aziraphale certainly had never admitted it to themselves, not until tonight, but they liked it that way. They found that whenever they were troubled, whenever they were lost, Crowley was the one that they wanted to talk to. Whenever they were happy and having a good time, Crowley was the one that they wanted to share it with. And didn’t that have to count for something?

God’s Plan, it was not to be judged or altered. The Almighty had her reasons for all that she did and Aziraphale knew that, grounded their thoughts and actions in that, but still found it lacking. Together, Aziraphale and Crowley had changed that gloomy plan, found a better option, made a better world. And maybe one day their home offices would summon them again, maybe they would demand that the two become enemies once more, but Aziraphale would not stand for it. The arch angels, they had changed, become more intense and unfeeling in the days leading up to Armageddon, or so it seemed. Perhaps, it was actually Aziraphale who had been the one that had changed, grew while their fellow angels stayed the same, stayed sedentary, made unempathetic by their distance from Earth, from Humanity. If going native, if caring about the world and God’s creations was so treasonous, then call them a traitor. They would fight to save what the humans had built, no matter how imperfect or foolish, they would stay, do their best to guide them towards a better tomorrow, and they would not do it alone, they would do it with Crowley by their side, because-

Because...

The sun crept through the windows, casting soft light on the shelves of books collected throughout the ages, casting clarity on the owner of those tomes, an angel who had spent the long night in deep contemplation, chewing on their thumbnail in a manner most undignified. Aziraphale stirred, raising their eyes to take in their surrounds as they slowly came back to themself. 

Heaven’s eyes were turned, and they were ready for one more act of rebellion.


	4. Chapter 4

The bus rattled down the city streets, carrying a casually panicking angel, hands folded in their lap, tearing at what used to be a neatly folded handkerchief but was now a crumpled rag. “No turning back now,” Aziraphale breathed, attempting to rally themself, “you faced down the devil, this... will be easy.”

They continued to mutter, practicing opening lines under their breath, rehearsing potential scenes from both sides. They had been so sure this morning, so confident and eager, but as the bus drew closer to Crowley’s flat, they found that bravery slowly fading away. “Just tell him how you feel, that’s all... simple...”

The bus stopped, collecting more passengers. A young girl, appearing to be around University age, settled down in the seat next to Aziraphale, tucking her backpack at her feet as the vehicle lurched into gear. “Just tell them, they’ll understand... simple...” she mumbled under her breath, chewing at her nails.

The two continued in such a manner, both huffing and sighing until eventually, Aziraphale remembered themself and their Heavenly purpose. “Is everything alright, my dear?” They spoke calmly, happy for the distraction from their own inner storm. 

“Oh,” the girl looked up suddenly, as if surprised that they were sitting there, “eh, yes. I’m just nervous about today.”

“What’s today?”

“I’m going to see my parents, and I’m going to tell them that I’m switching majors,” the girl explained, clenching her fists in resolve. 

People always found it easy to speak to Aziraphale, the angel figured that it was their heavenly glow that led humans to confide in them so freely. “That sounds exciting.”

“It should be,” the girl sighed, “but they want me to be an engineer, and I’ve been doing that for a year now, but I’m going to switch to music. I’ve been recording some songs and posting them online and people really like them... It’s what I want to do, it makes me happy, and it’s what I want to spend my time studying at University.”

“Then you should do it,” Aziraphale said, patting her hand and discreetly passing on a blessing, “If you tell your parents how you feel, they are sure to support you. Be brave, and explain to them how a career in music can be economical, they’ll understand.”

“You’re right,” the girl smiled, confidence spreading across her face, “I’ll do that, and I’m sure they’ll be happy for me. I’m their daughter after all, they’ll be proud of me no matter what.”

“Right,” Aziraphale nodded with certainty, pleased that they were able to help.

The two sat in silence, the girl with her chin high and Aziraphale with their chin starting to sink back down again as they remembered their own daunting mission for the day.

“So, what about you?” the girl pipped up, giving them a long look, “are you okay?”

“Me?” Aziraphale stammered, they weren’t used to humans checking up on them, but it was refreshing when it did happen, “well, today I am going to tell a friend how I feel... about him.”

“That’s exciting!”

“It should be,” Aziraphale sighed, “but I don’t know how he’ll respond. I mean, I think that he feels the same way, pretty sure actually, but we’re not even supposed to feel this way about each other to begin with. I just don’t know if it’s the right thing to do. But it feels right, and I want to tell him, I think I need to tell him.”

“Then you should do it,” the girl said, flashing them a reassuring smile, “put yourself out there. Trust your instincts, follow your heart, and don’t let outside influences get in the way of your happiness. And if it’s meant to be, it will be.”

“You’re right,” Aziraphale grinned, a weight lifting off their shoulders, “thank you.”

“Likewise.”

The bus pulled to a stop, two blocks away from Crowley’s apartment. Aziraphale took a deep breath and stood, resolve flowing through their veins.

“Good luck,” the girl nodded to them.

“You too, my dear.”

Aziraphale did their best to fold up their ruined handkerchief when they reached the sidewalk, replacing it in their pocket. The bus pulled away, having picked up its new passengers, including a disheveled man eating an oversized turkey leg while grumbling under his breath about ‘those bloody vegans.’ 

“Here we go,” Aziraphale took a deep breath, drawing in the freshness of the morning air and the warmth of the rising sun. Today was the day that everything would change. 

Forgoing the stairs once they reached Crowley’s building, Aziraphale twiddled their thumbs impatiently as the lift took them to the third floor. They were reliving everything, shuffling through years of memories with the demon, cataloging every time he had smiled at the angel, considered them, enjoyed them, depended on them. There was an affection between them, it was undeniable, and now, Aziraphale was hopeful that that affection could blossom into something new, something more. 

_Put yourself out there. Trust your instincts, follow your heart, and don’t let outside influences get in the way of your happiness. And if it’s meant to be, it will be._

The lift dinged, the doors slid open, and Aziraphale was ready.

They strode down the hallway, up to Crowley’s door, excitement dancing through their senses as they reached to knock. 

The door swung open before their knuckles even connected with the wood, and Crowley was there, filling the doorway like a puffed-up cat. 

“What?” He barked, staring at the angel accusingly through his dark sunglasses.

Aziraphale froze, horrified as they suddenly realized they still hadn’t decided on an opening line. In a panic, they blurted, “What happened to the slices?”

“Wha’?”

_What?_

Mercifully, Laci stepped out of her flat at that exactly moment, distracting both supernatural beings from their confused standoff. “Mornin’ Tony, Tony’s handsome mate,” she beamed at them in turn, flicking her hair over her shoulder.

“Lachesis,” Crowley addressed her flatly. 

“That’s not her-her name is Laci,” Aziraphale hissed at him in frustration before straightening their jacket and addressing Crowley’s neighbor politely, “Good morning Laci, how are you, my dear?”

“Well, yourself?” She said casually, locking her door. 

“Very well, thank you,” Aziraphale replied cheerfully, “and might I say, the apple bread you made yesterday was scrumptious.”

They could feel Crowley bristling behind them, increasingly annoyed by this encounter. Aziraphale strategically and casually moved their foot into the path of the door, incase Crowley decided to try slamming it in their face. 

“Oh, ya had some, did ya?” Laci’s eyebrows shot up as she looked between the two, internally calculating their possible relationship before landing on a suggestive conclusion, “well thank ya kindly, tha’s very sweet.”

“I’m glad I caught you actually,” Aziraphale continued to babble, unable to stop themself, “I have to ask, the bread was so moist, what did you use instead of-”

“Oh, shut up angel,” Crowley growled, roughly tugging Aziraphale into his flat by the collar, “get in here.”

“My apologies, my dear,” Aziraphale stammered as they were pulled along, trying their best to make a polite exit, “good morning, have a blessed day-”

The door banged shut, leaving Laci alone in the hallway. She chuckled, twirling her keys around her finger as she headed for the lift. “It’s about time tha’ bloke got shagged.”

“Well that was incredibly rude,” Aziraphale snapped as they regained their balance, straightening their bowtie.

“Wha’ do you want Aziraphale? You didn’t come all this way just to make small talk with my neighbors,” Crowley exhaled, walking past the angel with deliberate steps.

“You don’t know that.” 

“Don’t I?”

Aziraphale huffed, straightening themself once more before following after Crowley into his office. 

The demon settled into his throne-like chair, tossing aside his sunglasses and draping his long legs over the armrest as he picked up a half-finished glass of scotch from his desk. He raised his eyebrows at Aziraphale, patiently waiting for an explanation. 

“What did you do with the slices of apple bread that were missing yesterday?” Aziraphale heard themself assert, “I know you didn’t test them for poison so don’t bother saying that.” 

This was going terribly. 

“Why do you care?” Crowley shot back.

“I just want to know.”

“Why? Do you think I killed a man with them?”

“Did you?”

“Course not,” Crowley sat up straight, baffled by the accusation, “just shattered his pride, tha’s all.”

“Well...al-alright then,” Aziraphale thrust their chin into the air defiantly. 

They were blowing it.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley softened as he leaned his elbows on his desk, setting down his glass, “wha’s this really about?”

“What do you mean? I’m just... making sure you’re behaving.”

“No, you’re not,” the demon sneered wickedly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m not stupid, angel,” Crowley proclaimed as he jumped up from his seat, pacing the room with an air of authority, “you practically threw me out of the bookshop last night and now, you show up on my doorstep unannounced. You don’t care about unaccounted for slices of bread, so, wha’s this really about?”

They were face to face now, Crowley staring down Aziraphale, challenging them to cut the bullshit and stop wasting his time. But under all the intensity, all of the cruelty in his expression, there was a twinkle in his eye. He was enjoying this.

“Well, first I should like to apologize for kicking you out, that was incredible rude of me,” Aziraphale rambled, stalling for time, racking their brain for something smart to say, something eloquent even.

“And?”

“And...”

Doubt. All they found was doubt. What if they were wrong? What if Crowley didn’t feel the same? What if he was just playing a trick last night? What if the kiss meant nothing? It would be safer not to ask, to just turn around and leave, to pretend none of it ever happened-

_Trust your instincts, follow your heart...if it’s meant to be, it will be._

This was the only chance they had, eventually home office would check in and they would be pulled back into the cogs of God’s Plan. Now was the time, it was worth the risk, worth the potential embarrassment. If they didn’t say it now, they would regret it for all eternity. 

Clenching their fists, Aziraphale raised their head, looked Crowley straight in the face and stated, “I want to try again.”

“Wha’?” Crowley smirked, momentarily confused, but realization quickly changed his expression, “Try wha’ again?”

The devil, he was going to make them say it.

“The... kiss... I-I want to try again,” the angel stammered, fighting to maintain composure.

“You said you didn’t like it,” Crowley narrowed his reptilian eyes suspiciously.

Aziraphale pursed their lips, collected themself, then took a slow step towards their dear friend, reaching for his hand. They felt Crowley flinch away from their touch ever so slightly, not to refuse the contact, but in sudden self-consciousness, as if to ask: _are you sure?_

The angel didn’t have to consider it, they were sure, really really sure. 

Aziraphale drew in a breath. “I lied,” they confessed. 

“Really?” Crowley’s face broke into a wide grin, partly due to the meaning behind their admission, but mostly for the simple fact that the angel had _lied_. He was almost proud.

“You don’t have to look so pleased,” Aziraphale muttered, their cheeks turning rosy with embarrassment as they began to step away

Crowley moved suddenly, capturing Aziraphale’s hand in his, closing the gap between them completely. The angel’s breath caught in their throat as the demon gazed at them tenderly, “How can I not be when I’m looking at you?”

Warmth and lightness spread through Aziraphale’s chest, making them feel like they were flying through the clouds. Butterflies tickled their stomach, and their skin pricked with a fuzzy feeling as they lost themself in Crowley’ golden irises. It took them a moment to recognize the sensation, it was one that they knew well. 

It was love.

Aziraphale leaned in, overcome by confidence as they traced their well-manicured fingers across Crowley’s jawline, guiding his lips to meet their own. They could feel the demon smiling against them as they closed their eyes and sighed into the kiss, relishing in the connection. 

There were no explosions, no hell fire to combust them or heavenly lightning to smite them down. The world and the universe melted away, God and Satan long forgotten and irrelevant as an angel and a demon shared a genuine and intimate kiss, wrapped tightly in each other’s arms. 

Aziraphale squeaked as Crowley suddenly picked them up, setting them down on the edge of his desk as he deepened the kiss, leaning into them, all restraint gone as he grew greedy for more. He paused at Aziraphale’s sound, having the sense to step back for a moment and reassess, “too fast?” 

Aziraphale was breathless, overwhelmed with sensations and desires, “just a bit.”

“Sorry, I’m afraid I’m not very good going at slow,” Crowley acknowledged, slightly embarrassed but trying to play it off cool.

“That’s alright,” Aziraphale smiled, recovering as they caressed the demon’s forearms, pulling him back towards them, “we have time to figure it out.”

Crowley beamed at this, pressing a gentle kiss to Aziraphale’s forehead. “I love you, angel,” he whispered, confessing his greatest secret.

Aziraphale basked in his words, sweet like a ripe apple freshly plucked from a tree, and nothing had ever felt so right. Forbidden and taboo were just meaningless words, baseless and outdated restrictions. This was meant to be, and so it was. An Angel and demon together in a personal Eden of their own design.

“I love you too, Crowley.”


End file.
